Of Birds and Blokes
by raspberry-rave
Summary: Against a vibrantly historical backdrop, two souls find each other with music, fashion and banter.


**A/N:** Written for the 2009 D/G Forum Fic Exchange. I hope Leigh doesn't hate it _too_ much. I enjoyed researching this fic far too much, and now have a healthy respect for jazz musicians and fashion in the 1920s.

--*--

**Of Birds and Blokes**

--*--

The year was 1928. The little clubs from Paris had taken Europe by storm, and cabarets, jazz clubs and dance halls were springing up all over England. Small, intimate pockets of music and food bonded the young elite of British society. It was the year of the socialite.

Young women paraded around in shapeless dresses that showed more ankle and leg that their mothers approved of. Girls delighted in shocking their matrons with exposed arms and shoulders. Hair was cut short in an effort to disguise, or perhaps eliminate, their femininity, but at the same time they began to apply makeup in public settings, rather than the privacy of their boudoir.

Young men were still given license to indulge in lust-filled endeavours, so long as no unwanted heirs were produced from their… indiscretions. They were graced with dazzling charm and, for those imbued with the arrogance and natural confidence of wealth, the ability to associate with the highest circles.

By day, men learned the business trade of their parents or their chosen field while women learned the intricacies of running a household, or made social calls. By night, both sexes were free to rub shoulders with friends, old and new. They visited dance halls – those that had the finances and the inclination to leave their living rooms – and frequently stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. Gone were the days of chaperoned ballrooms; 1928 brought dimly lit spaces filled with warm bodies reeking of Chanel No. 5 and alcohol.

Some months prior, a then unknown Blaise Zabini had purchased property amidst the sprawl of French refugees in Soho. He owned a two storey building on Old Compton Street – the kind where once it's bought it's a whole other story. Cheap restaurants were springing up in the dust of respectable families, and Zabini wanted to create the kind of classy establishment that would draw back the big spenders. So, he did what any clever businessman would: he offered girls and alcohol, with music on the side.

Almost overnight, _The Birdcage_ became the premier entertainment house for residents in neighbouring towns. Patrons visited from Mayfair, Bloomsbury and Marylebone and Blaise was careful to get a steady stream of acts from northern Fitzrovia, the district known for its artistic talent. This was how he met Ginevra Weasley.

The best way to describe Ginny Weasley was bohemian. She didn't hold to any of society's conventions, and she proclaimed Gabrielle Chanel a prophet. When England's young women dressed to annoy their mothers, she shunned such kitschy rationales and dressed using less fabric _because it was cheaper to buy_. Zabini would have been appalled, had she not had the voice of an angel and the body of a temptress. He figured it was a win-win situation: even if the bird couldn't sing, all she had to do was sit there and look pretty and he'd still make a killing in tableaux vivant sales. Now if he could just see about getting her to smoke privately; despite what other women their age were doing, boys didn't like the women they fantasized about to be anything less than feminine.

Despite his frequent warnings, Ginny smoked, drank and flirted like they were going out of style. She appealed to men in the most basic way, and even though it was widely known that she was most emphatically _not_ a whore, or even an expensive mistress, they kept coming back. Blaise did not know why, but he could hazard a guess. He didn't much care, really, as long as she kept the profits in black. All his employees pulled their weight, from the cheapest prostitute (Honey's age really was catching up with her) to the most expensive performer (Diana of the never-ending legs), but Ginny was something special.

The thing about Bohemians, though, was that you never knew when they'd skip town on you. He made sure to keep a closer eye on Ginny after the incident where she disappeared for three weeks, only to turn up at the Windmill Theatre. She was spotted by a frequent customer of Zabini's and the man relayed the news between spasms of laughter, teasing Blaise that he needed to keep a tighter hold on his women. Blaise had glared at him with so much venom that he kept his opinions to himself after that, if he ever returned to _The Birdcage_.

Ginny needed a handler, and men could not be counted upon to keep up with her quick mind. Blaise settled on Luna Lovegood, one of his more expensive courtesans. She was sharp, never missing a trick, and responsible enough to keep Ginny in some sort of line. He heard from Pansy, another of his girls, that the two were becoming friends, but there had been no more indiscretions – other than the usual sort – so he left them to their devices for the most part. He didn't particularly relish being involved in the day to day affairs of women.

--*--

Ginny and Luna were basking in the afternoon of a lovely day, hours before they were required to be on display in _The Birdcage_. They were in Ginny's flat, appropriately named for the low ceiling that forced everyone into a hunch when they entered. The only way to be comfortable was to lounge, something the girls did very well. Ginny was draped over an arm of her couch and a cigarette encased in a delicate hand dangled carelessly toward the floor. Luna was lying facedown on a threadbare rug. It made a change, she said, from the position she normally occupied on the job. And her back was sore.

Ginny's second-hand Victrola was turning steadily and suffused the small living space with jazz numbers. Ginny was humming along to Satin Doll and feeling rather mellow.

"Do you know how many rude jokes they make about my surname?" Luna tossed out arbitrarily.

Ginny shook her head and took a drag.

"Eleven," Luna continued triumphantly. "After that they're all recycled. None of these men are in any way original. My favourite so far was the boy who replied 'So do I'." She snickered. "The result was disappointing." She and Ginny erupted into peals of laughter.

"You make it sound so entertaining," Ginny commented, pouting. "It's no fun to be on stage and have a dozen randy blokes imagining you naked."

"At least they've got imagination. The fellows I end up with wouldn't know creativity if it bit them on the willy." She dropped a wink at Ginny, who promptly grinned at her meaning.

"Why don't you try something different, then? Grab a higher class of dubiously moralled bastards."

"Aside from getting on top, there's not that many opportunities for advancement in my line of work," Luna deadpanned.

Ginny stuck her tongue out. "Mistress, high class escort. I know some men like a woman who knows what she's doing."

Luna pondered. "What about you? A job on the side would mean more money – you could get out of this ridiculous flat, and Blaise wouldn't mind the extra profits."

"Me, moonlight as an escort?" Ginny looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure…"

"Where's your spirit of adventure?" Luna cajoled.

"I think I lost it between groping sessions last night," Ginny replied dryly. "I wish Blaise would let me deal with the randy bastards on my own. They'd never know what hit them."

"A sharp knee to the groin, I expect."

Both girls giggled.

"Who's on the menu tonight?" Ginny asked her friend, tapping ash into a saucer on the floor.

Luna sat up and stretched before replying. "Blaise wants me to entertain some of his friends. I think Draco Malfoy was one of the names he mentioned," she added with a sly glance at Ginny.

Ginny frowned, trying to place the name, and the cigarette paused in its journey to her lips.

"Not the bloke who near assaulted me," she said, groaning.

Ginny had met Draco several weeks ago when he mistook her for a prostitute. "You certainly looked like one," Luna had commented when she relayed the story. Sure, she had dressed up a bit for the night's performance and her dress showed more leg than usual, and clung to her curves more. She'd even worn makeup. That gave him absolutely no right to grab her arm when she stepped outside for a smoke, push her up roughly against a wall and whisper drunkenly in her ear, "Hey, love, is that chest for sale?"

Luna had fallen over laughing when she told her, but Ginny hadn't found it nearly as entertaining when the man's body was effectively trapping her against the wall. It was like being between a rock and a hard place, a very hard place, Ginny remembered thinking when he had pushed his hips forward. Despite her avant-garde nature, Ginny had felt her cheeks heating.

"_I'm not…" she mumbled, trailing off when he mashed his lips against hers. Ginny could taste the matured whiskey Blaise reserved for good customers. Oh, what the hell, she thought, she'd been kissed by drunken men in alleys before. They hadn't been nearly as thrilling as kissing this man. She might not know who he was, but his lips were fast becoming familiar with hers. _

_It was all fun and games until the bastard slipped his hand up her dress. Using strength acquired from countless other similar situations, she shoved him away. _

_He glared at her and muttered, "Cheap whore." _

_In her line of work, Ginny wasn't unused to the epithet. The implication that she was anything less than high-priced, however, pushed her over the edge. She glared right back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before spitting at his feet. She later wondered why he hadn't hit her; it wasn't unheard of for tarts to be slapped around when their patrons weren't pleased. _

_Her cigarette had been lost in the skirmish, but she couldn't care less as she spun on her heel and stalked back inside. She was eager to find Luna, but after a quick inspection on her shaky appearance in the bathroom, she realized a cigarette would have been a godsend. _

Afterwards, when she saw him on the floor, she pointed him out to Vincent, the doorman, who told her the bastard was a friend of Blaise.

Luna was grinning at her friend's discomfort.

"That means he's going to be in the audience!" Ginny realized suddenly, alarmed. The cigarette slipped out of her fingers to land on the rug where ash did wonders for the colour.

Luna frowned at the mess before pointing out, "You don't know that for sure."

"It's practically a given, the smarmy git," Ginny hissed. "Well, I'll give _him_ what's for. Cheap whore, indeed." She sniffed and lifted her cigarette-less hand to her mouth, frowning slightly before reaching for it on the floor.

Luna hid a small smile and the rest of the visit passed in cheerful diatribe on the faults of men.

When Luna was ready to leave she bemoaned the crushed state of her day dress. Ginny, grinning wickedly, commented, "The neighbours will think we've been naughty."

Their carefree laughter drew the attention of the nosy old biddies who frowned at the state of them: Luna in her crushed muslin – a throwback to the recently departed Victorian era – and Ginny in her house dress. Beautiful girls inspire more envy than admiration, and the twosome was no exception. Luna waved a hand in farewell, and Ginny returned inside to get ready for the evening.

--*--

_The Birdcage_ lit up Old Compton like a gemstone, sticking out amongst drearily decorated French restaurants and gaudily coloured displays that fronted for bordellos. The canary yellow, cursive font blinked enticingly, ensnaring the young and wealthy with promises of night long entertainment. The doorman, a solidly build gentleman of at least forty years, stood in a deceptively casual pose as he watched the district wake up. Soon, the sound of automobiles would emerge from the dark and Old Compton would spring to life.

Inside, girls ran to and fro putting last minute touches on makeup, tightening corsets and teasing hair. In the dressing room reserved for performers, Ginny was adjusting the slit of her scarlet cocktail dress so it travelled up her inner thigh. The bodice dipped scandalously low to skim the edge of her breasts and clung to her hips and thighs up to the end of the split. Her hair she had cut short to hang just below her ears in loose, red curls. She wore makeup sparingly, accentuating her eyes and lips, and a simple gold necklace drew attention to the slope of her bare shoulders.

Down the hall, in the room for those who performed on a different stage, Luna fastened her garters and slipped into the sleeveless, corseted royal blue gown she would wear for most of the evening. It featured black lace trimmings with a design of bows running down the front of the low, square-cut bodice, stopping just before the full skirts, and it was the fanciest dress in the collective pool. As a senior demimondaine, she had first pick of the outfits every evening. She slipped on the matching black gloves and stepped into glossy black heels. Her hair was teased and pinned into a high chignon with a few tendrils framing her face delicately.

She looked the perfect demimonde.

The girls crossed paths in the hallway. Luna was one of three girls expected to attend Blaise's guests and she was on her way to the study to meet her charge for the night. Ginny was on her way to the main room where she would perform for most of the night to the delight of the males in attendance and the consternation of the women.

They gave each other once-overs and nodded in satisfaction, smiling briefly.

"Give them hell," they whispered to each other, laughing softly as they continued on.

Ginny was just about ready to walk on stage as she peered about the crowded floor for a sign of the white blond head. To her annoyance, most men still wore their hats, so all she could see was a mass of moving blackbirds. She figured he was probably still in Blaise's private rooms, in any case, being entertained by someone who was well paid for it. Probably the worldly Pansy or the Gallic-structured Vivian, or even Luna. Ginny shuddered and put such thoughts out of her head to concentrate on her performance.

She sauntered forward, nodding to the band in the corner, and took her place in front of the microphone. The lights dimmed and her hands reached up to grasp the stand tenderly. She looked down, affecting modesty, before gazing at the audience through her eyelashes as her voice poured out silkily, crooning intimately about a sugar sweet lover.

She didn't notice him until the second number and by then she had hit her stride, so aside from a moment of unease from which she recovered easily, it all went rather smoothly. He was reclining in a chair in the middle of the room, with a fedora tipped rakishly over his eyes so only a few strands of escaping blond hair could be seen. Ginny only recognized him by the startling grey of those eyes; even drunk, Draco Malfoy was completely focused on what he wanted, and what he had wanted during that drunken fumble so many nights ago was her. It might have been her imagination, but she rather thought that tonight he wanted the same thing.

Ginny wasn't feeling as inclined to acquiesce.

She noticed Vivian's companion eyeing her with some appreciation in a private booth near the stage. Winking at him seductively, she allowed herself a brief moment of amusement at Vivian's ire.

After her last number, she exited the stage gracefully to applause and catcalls as the next performer took over. The lateness of the hour dictated the salaciousness of the act and Diana of the never-ending legs was poised to begin her performance. Ginny headed straight for her dressing room to remove the makeup before it could stain the dress; she was sweating from the heat in the room and nervousness about seeing that Malfoy character once again.

She hoped she would run into Luna so the girl could tell her what she'd learned about Malfoy, but she was nowhere to be found and Ginny surmised that she was still with her client. She had noticed Pansy with Draco, and quickly discarded that avenue of information. She and Pansy had never gotten along; there was a difference between a being whore and being a bitch that Pansy had never managed to understand. She was catty to every other female employee at _The Birdcage_ and chatted up all the men, even the ones that had been designated to other girls.

She did run into one of the younger girls – Cece, a French émigré with café au lait colouring – who informed her that Blaise wanted to see her in his rooms as soon as possible. Ginny heaved an impatient sigh; the makeup would have to wait. She settled for retrieving a well-used fan from the bodice of the dress and decided she's ask Blaise for a cigarette when she arrived at his rooms.

"You rang?" Ginny greeted impertinently moments later when she stepped inside Blaise's quarters.

"Cheeky wench," Blaise countered. "I ought to withhold your cigarette allowance."

Ginny gave a mock gasp and put a hand to her chest. "You wouldn't dare. I can't sing without my cigarettes, you know."

"They're stealing your voice. Although that husky quality they add when you speak rather more than makes up for it," he added with a wink.

"Oh, Mr. Zabini, you _tease_," Ginny said breathily, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she put away the fan.

"That was interesting to watch," Blaise said when she was through. "It makes a bloke wonder how you get it out again."

Ginny laughed at him as the door opened to admit six people. Ginny recognized only four of the party, though she would rather not have known at least two. Luna, Vivian, Pansy and Draco Malfoy walked into the room and settled themselves in various poses. Luna and Vivian trailed behind the two unknowns and Ginny thought Luna looked somewhat dishevelled, which was odd because the blonde took great pride in her appearance. Ginny felt a pang of unease about her friend's client and she watched with growing concern at the way the man held her as if she were some sort of possession. It was silly for her to be worried; this was only one example of the sort of behaviour Luna and all the other girls had to put up with. At least under Blaise's roof they were offered a measure of protection by the bouncer.

As five pairs of eyes fixed on her – Luna, bless her soul, found the bookcase far more interesting than a cabaret singer – Ginny wished fervently that she'd had time to have even half a cigarette. But all the nicotine in the world could not give her the patience to deal with Malfoy in such a public setting. He was still wearing the fedora, as if common courtesy didn't dictate that he remove the hat while indoors. She had to admit that it added a certain element of mystique to his appearance and made him reasonably more attractive than he should be.

He smirked at her then, the insolent bastard, and Ginny's defences went up immediately. Damn him, anyway.

"Have you never seen a lady before?" she spat vindictively.

Eyebrows were raised collectively, but Malfoy continued his insufferable smirk. "I have, but I'm afraid I don't see any presently," he replied with a dismissive glance.

Ginny bristled and was about to reply when Blaise cleared his throat and handed her a lit cigarette, warning her with his eyes to be polite. As Ginny took a long drag, she began to feel enough at ease to at least tolerate Malfoy with some degree of civility. And then he spoke again, and all good intentions were shot straight to hell.

"Tell me, love," the gigantic prat murmured to his companion in a stage whisper, "Does that temper translate to passion in the bedroom?"

Pansy looked offended, and she glared at Ginny before replying in a saccharine voice, trailing a bawdily painted fingernail down Draco's chest, "Darling," she fairly purred, "I've got nothing _but_ passion, and without that nasty temper."

Ginny rolled her eyes as she took another drag, wondering if Pansy really was that shallow. And what on earth should she glare at _her_ for, when Malfoy was the one who had made the comment. Blaise's cabaret may double as a bordello, but it was still a class establishment. Talk of bedrooms should be reserved for the actual room, Ginny thought moodily, though everyone knew she indulged in such chatter from time to time, and in mixed company at that.

She heard Blaise sigh while one of the two unknowns regarded her smoking habits with some curiosity. It was the fellow she had winked at before and she shared a commiserating smile with him. The smile became a real one when Vivian glared at her before running a manicured hand down his arm and reclaiming his attention. Ginny could have laughed out loud at the ease with which the girls were riled up.

"These are the four best, gentlemen," her employer was saying. The phrase caught Ginny's attention and she paid closer attention to what he was.

"Boot, when did you say your ball was to be?" he enquired.

"The twenty-ninth," Luna's companion replied lazily, running a brazen hand over the front of her bodice. Ginny detected a barely concealed shudder when he touched her friend, and her concern grew. For the first time, she noticed fading bruises on Luna's upper arm and that one of her bows was untied. She frowned in anxiety, and tried to concentrate on Blaise's next statement.

"I can offer you gentlemen escorts. If none of these suit your fancy, we can have more arranged." All this was said in the cool, collected voice of the shrewd businessman, but Ginny's stomach rebelled at the words. A glance at Blaise told her he was through.

"Aren't you going to ask us if we mind?" Ginny cried.

"Ginny," Blaise began, giving her a patronizing look, "this is what the girls are paid to do."

"I'm not, and I don't see why I should be included," she retaliated.

"Not that it's any of your business, but Mr. Malfoy personally recommended you," Blaise responded.

"It is my business!" Ginny pointed out with some annoyance before the second half of the sentence penetrated her brain. "I am not a companion!" she hissed furiously.

"Rest assured, Ms. Weasley, you will be handsomely compensated," Blaise said in a placating tone.

"Yes," Malfoy chimed in with a diabolical smirk, "Handsomely."

Ginny wanted to empty the ash tray over his white blond head. She looked at Luna who, she was surprised and not a little alarmed to notice, was staring at her pleadingly. Fine, Ginny would go for the sake of her friend.

"I'll do it," she replied grudgingly, feeling like she was signing away her soul, "But not with Mr. Malfoy!"

"I'm afraid that's not negotiable, Ms. Weasley," Blaise said firmly.

"I'll take her," the other unknown suggested, earning himself several glares. To his credit, he stood his ground. Ginny practically beamed at him. He had shaggy brown hair, kind blue eyes and a crooked smile. Ginny wondered how he had fallen in with this lot.

"I thought you were taking me, darling," Vivian simpered, looking up at him with a contrived pout. He gently disengaged himself from her embrace.

"We never put anything in writing, dear." Ginny wondered if any of them knew the other's name.

"What do you say, love, will you have me?" he asked her cajolingly, with a smile that revealed dimples. Ginny was taken in despite herself.

"She bloody well will not!" Malfoy answered hotly.

"_We_ never put anything in writing, dear," Ginny pointed out dryly.

Draco glared at her and Pansy glared at both of them. Vivian was still glaring at Ginny who felt like glaring at Blaise except he'd likely put her out if she lost this opportunity.

"I'm willing to pay more," Draco said to Blaise.

"So am I," the unknown added quickly.

"Oh, stuff it, Davies. You only want her because she doesn't want me," Draco said brusquely.

"An astute observation, Mr. Malfoy," Ginny commented, "Now if you would kindly cease this attempt at a power play, I assure you I have no intention of going anywhere with _you_."

Grey eyes turned to granite as Draco regarded the saucy wench in front of him. "I was right," he said coldly, "You _are_ a cheap whore."

The only things stopping Ginny from marching over to him and giving him what-for was the possibility of the ensuing fight between herself and Pansy and the fact that Blaise would definitely throw her out for insulting one of his friends. Never mind that the friend had insulted first. She attempted nonchalance.

"Language, Mr. Malfoy," she chided, "Not everyone present shares your tawdry opinions."

"Ms. Weasley," Blaise said warningly.

Ginny ignored him. "Mr. Davies," she said enquiringly.

He nodded and Ginny felt relief spread through every inch of her body. Draco Malfoy was scowling and she was to enjoy a night on the town with a seemingly pleasant young man. All would have been perfect if Luna hadn't still looked like a terrified rabbit.

The man Blaise had called Boot was watching the interplay with a sadistic sort of amusement and now that business was settled…

"Malfoy," Blaise began.

Almost settled.

"Malfoy, will you be taking Vivian or Pansy? They are both available."

Draco's displeasure could not have been more palpable. He gestured impatiently with his hand.

"Ah." Blaise scribbled something down in a ledger.

Minutes later, the six left in the same manner they entered and Ginny's concern for Luna grew. She turned to face Blaise, alarmed when she found him glaring at her.

"You couldn't behave?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"I – " Ginny stammered. "You sprang this on me!"

"You are my employee," Blaise continued, enunciating each word clearly. "You don't object to my decisions and you certainly don't insult my guests. I don't know why I expected better of you, but I did. You have severely disappointed me, Ms. Weasley."

"I…" Ginny faltered. She could see how her behaviour had bordered on disrespectful, but she considered it unfair that Blaise thought he could simply sell his employees to the highest bidder. Whichever way she thought about it, Blaise was still the one who paid her bills.

She lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry."

Blaise nodded in acceptance. "Would you please leave my quarters," he said formally.

Ginny hesitated.

"Is there something more, Ms. Weasley?" he prompted.

"It's Luna," Ginny began, "I'm worried about her client."

Blaise's features softened fractionally. "Ms. Lovegood will be taken care of," he assured her, and Ginny retired from the room.

It was only after she returned to her flat that she realized Blaise's reply hadn't really assuaged her fears.

--*--

"Ms. Weasley," a voice called.

A few days before the ball found Ginny shopping for a new hat with her meagre allowance. She turned to find the source of the voice and was confronted, to her immense irritation, with Draco Malfoy. He had been frequenting the club more of late, and had even taken to enquiring the regulars about her: where she lived, how much she earned, and so on.

"Malfoy," she greeted through gritted teeth.

"Now, love," he chided, "People will think you're not happy to see me."

He grinned as he slipped an arm through hers and guided her along the busy sidewalk.

"I'm not," she snapped irritably. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, do you make a habit of chasing skirts?"

"Not as much as I do of lifting them," he replied with a wink.

Ginny huffed in irritation; she wished that every once in a while he would say something that _didn't_ make her want to prod him with her parasol.

"What do you want," she asked after they had exited the third shop and Malfoy was still, infuriatingly, stuck to her arm.

"I think that's rather obvious," he replied with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Well, it's not. Unless you profess a hidden love for millinery…"

Draco scowled, and Ginny couldn't resist a triumphant smirk.

"We really ought to find more productive uses for that tongue of yours," he told her.

"Wouldn't you like to try," Ginny replied archly.

After a moment's pause in which Draco looked at her so ardently Ginny thought she might blush, she gave in and amended.

"That wasn't an invitation."

She felt rather that saw his eyes on her body, because she kept her gaze straight ahead.

"More's the pity," he commented casually, but let the matter drop. Ginny was grateful; she wasn't sure she was up to a second refusal. For certain, it would be less adamant than the first; Draco was irresistible when he was trying to be charming.

Truth be told, Ginny was starting to appreciate the warm grip of his hand on her elbow and the effortless way he steered their path without seeming to. She peeked at him through her lashes, noticing how attractive he really was. His hair was short, as was fashionable for men, and he was sporting the infernal fedora. A small smirk played around the edges of his mouth and his grey eyes sparkled with mischief. He had the features of aristocracy: high cheekbones and a sharp nose. His face was rather pointy, but Ginny was willing to overlook that in favour of his dogged determination in pursuing her. It was quite flattering, when he wasn't being a total bastard.

"Will you be singing tonight?" he enquired politely.

At her nod, he continued, "Oh, good, I get to imagine you naked while you're crooning again."

He laughed when Ginny spluttered.

"Is that the only way you get your kicks, Malfoy?" she asked in mild annoyance.

"No, sometimes I don't have to pretend." He grinned wickedly when she blushed.

"You're distracting me," Ginny grumbled when they left the fifth shop and she was still empty handed.

"I should hope so," said the insufferable prat. "You're quite distracting, yourself." His smile could only be described as wolfish.

"Is the object of our interaction for you to annoy me?" Ginny demanded.

"No," Draco responded, surprised that she would think so. "It's to dazzle you with my wit and charm."

"I'm not easily dazzled," she responded.

"So I've noticed," Draco remarked cryptically.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Draco looked at her in consternation before replying. "You're not as… accommodating as the other girls."

Ginny gave an unladylike snort. "Did you expect me to be easy?"

His silence answered well enough.

"I'm nothing if not unpredictable," she continued airily.

"Duly noted," Draco responded, smirking, and the rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

Ginny never did find a hat.

--*--

Terry Boot's events were always the highlight of the social calendar. His annual masked ball was no exception, and no expense was spared to ensure that the party was the most talked about affair of the season. Ironically, this year's theme was courtesan. Rumour had it there would be dancing girls in cages all over the room and that the servers would be just this side of decently dressed. It would also feature a tableau vivant performance borrowed from the Windmill. Not to go would be social suicide.

Ginny and Luna were in a tizzy, getting dressed in the rooms Blaise had allowed them for the night. Ginny was dressed in an emerald green creation against which her hair stood out like a flame. Davies' favourite colour was green and the dress was accented in gold ribbon. It came with matching undergarments and a darling pair of shoes. Her hair was swept away from her ears in an elegant updo pinned with a green bow, and gold earrings dangled from her lobes. She went to the trouble of applying makeup for the evening, and her eyes were smokily outlined with kohl and green powder. Her cheeks were pink and her lips rouged. It was all for nought, because the emerald mask covered most of her face, in any case.

Luna was clothed in a black and red dress that clung to her breasts and thighs in a manner Blaise had said was quite popular in France. It was sleeveless and so tightly corseted that her waist had decreased by at least four inches and her bosom was in danger of spilling out. Her makeup was outrageously painted to match the dress: her lips were Ox Blood and her eyes were accentuated to look seductive. Her hair was allowed to tumble around her shoulders – Luna had never cut it – and it was brushed to remove most of the curls. The dress showed a good many inches of stocking and ankle and Luna tried not to be scandalized at the blatant tartness of the costume. Her mask was only marginally smaller than Ginny's.

"Ready, Luna?" Ginny asked when there was absolutely nothing that could be done, undone, or redone to their outfits.

Her friend nodded briskly and swept her skirts out of the way as they headed downstairs to meet the gentlemen.

The men were all dressed normally, but the costumes ranged from devoted husband seduced by a mistress to bordello owner. Another of society's quirks, Ginny thought with amusement that waned when she saw the guarded way Luna approached Mr. Boot. She glanced at Blaise who was watching the pair with concern, and hoped that the evening would not end badly.

"You look nice," Davies said when she reached him. Ginny smiled at the compliment.

"No, she doesn't, Davies," Draco cut in superciliously.

Ginny was about to vent her frustration and anxiety on the arrogant bastard when he continued.

"She looks absolutely ravishing." Ginny bit back laughter when he waggled his eyebrows salaciously at her. The only option was to ignore him.

"Thank you, Mr. Davies," she said to her escort, laying a hand on his arm.

"You may call me Roger, my dear," he offered magnanimously and Ginny had to stifle a snort at his highhanded ways.

Boot had swept Luna away to act as hostess for the evening; it took a bold man to publicly flaunt a mistress as host of his party. Blaise was accompanied by the lovely, French Vivian who kept glowering at Ginny; she dismissed the urge to tell her that her face would get stuck like that as childish. Pansy appeared no more delighted at the thought of being in the same party as Ginny, but she looked happy enough to have retained Draco's arm as her scratching post.

"Are you ready to go?" Roger asked kindly. When Ginny nodded, he fetched her coat from the rack. It was rabbit skin, the very best imitation, dyed green to match her dress, and accented with black fur. It made Ginny feel like an upper-class mistress and she revelled in its warmth.

When they arrived at the sprawling estate in Bloomsbury, Ginny smothered a gasp at the high gates and long, gravelled driveway. They braked to let a woman in a gold leotard astride a plumed pony walk pass. She winked at the men.

The house itself was no less splendid and the foyer displayed a grand staircase that they were led past and into the ballroom. The ballroom was brightly lit and spacious; hundreds of bodies in multi-coloured costumes jived in beat to the live jazz band. Ginny had never seen a more beautiful sight.

She had checked her cloak at the door and she was grateful for the sleeves, however short, that at least covered her shoulders. Davies took her arm and led her into the middle of the room where he hesitated awkwardly. Ginny smiled in encouragement.

"It's easy," she promised, "just follow me." And she led him in a variation the Charleston that had him laughing uproariously at himself.

After several more dances, she felt breathless and exhilarated. She didn't remember ever having this much fun at any event, probably because she was usually the entertainment rather than the entertained. It was a novel and enlightening experience. She had danced three times with Roger after the Charleston, twice with Draco and twice with Blaise, much to the annoyance of Vivian and Pansy. Honestly, you'd think this was their first event as a companion. She had even more offers for dances from unattached young men and she accepted them all until Roger started to get concerned, and Draco started to pay less and less attention to Pansy and more and more attention to the fellows Ginny was dancing with. She had laughed freely and loudly at heir jokes, most of which were as crude as the ones she criticized Draco for, but the night was young and she felt desirable and desired.

She stepped out onto the patio to catch her breath after slipping away from Roger for the second time since the evening had started. Pressing a cool hand to her chest, she gazed up at the stars, the same ones she saw when she looked out the window of her flat in Soho.

"You really do look ravishing tonight," a voice said from behind her. Ginny closed her eyes against the pleasure that rippled through her at the sound of it. She opened them to find Draco at her side gazing at her.

"So I've been told," she agreed offhandedly.

"Someone might have to take you up on that," he continued.

"And… ravish me?" she asked sceptically.

Draco smirked before pressing his lips to hers. She wondered if he knew she hadn't been offering, or if this had been his plan all along.

Ginny had thought about what kissing a sober Draco would be like. He'd be less grabby, she thought, not as heedlessly passionate. There wouldn't be as much honesty in it as there was in that inebriated tussle in a back alley. She had been wrong on all counts.

His hand came up to trace her jaw, stroking the area between ear and lips, wordlessly coaxing her to open up to him. When she did, there was a satisfied noise from both parties and Draco's arm wound around her waist to pull her closer to him. The kiss would have gone on for a bit more if Ginny hadn't needed oxygen more than Draco's lips on hers and she stepped away from him to catch her breath, again.

He looked so blatantly sexual that she nearly stepped back into his arms, but she needed to think clearly. Several moments passed before either of them spoke.

"Poor Roger," Ginny mused aloud.

Draco shrugged. "He'll survive."

"What about tomorrow?" Ginny asked.

"What about tonight?" Draco retorted with a comical leer.

She thought about that for a moment.

"Damn it all, anyway," she muttered and kissed him again as the band started playing Mood Indigo.

_--fin--_

**A/N: **

I took some liberties with the Windmill Theatre – it wasn't opened until 1931, and some of the songs may be anachronisms as well. Don't hate, unless you're planning to give a detailed list of all the things you found _wrong_ in a review. I'm going for quantity over quality here.


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